Hollow Point
by moon strut
Summary: He is black and white and red all over. —gray&juvia, natsu&lucy, gang!fic au
1. introduction

**dedication:** to Michelle 'coz she's the Lucy to my Natsu. And to Les 'coz she ships Gruvia, like, that much. Also 'coz I've known her (kinda more like watched from the shadows) for almost five years now since we were both awkward fangirls (still are).

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**hollow point**

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**.1**

It's going to rain.

Juvia stares beyond the foggy glass of the window and sighs, because it seems the weather report has lied again. She hates the rain and gloomy weather; it reminds her of messed up childhoods and shattered first loves. And so, she abandons the freshly made cup of tea sitting on the counter, steaming with wispy clouds that taunt and mock her. Instead, she chooses to rest her face in the comforting fabric of her over-sized sweater.

The perpetual aroma of dried leaves and exotic herbs were starting to give her a sizable headache. Well. That's what she gets for working in a tea shop five days a week.

The bell on the door jingles; Juvia barely looks up in time to witness the customer stroll in, classic sneakers thudding softly on the polished wood floor, almost floating. He glides to the register, swift and silent, like a blur.

_Finally_.

It's a wonder this store manages to stay afloat with only the odd patron walking in every several hours. (Turns out, most of the people that decide to come in only do so for the free samples.)

There is a head of tousled charcoal hair, messy but tame all at once, that connects to a face that is prettier than it is handsome. And then, those eyes. _Oh_—those dark, haunting eyes. Juvia feels the temperature drop significantly, and somehow, she swears, her veins freeze.

"Hey," the stranger starts. And she is not proud to admit that she shudders. But still, she does, because his voice kind of sounds like death and clouds and the calm before storm.

Juvia loses her own voice, and merely nods meekly in acknowledgment.

"What do recommend?" is his inquiry. He tilts his head to the side, and she almost wants to hide somewhere.

"Um, it depends," and in all honesty, she is rather disappointed in how feeble she makes herself to be. She clears her throat, beating her chest with mild force. There, that should do it. "What is the occasion?"

His blacker-than-black eyes shift back to her from the box of a random display he seemed interested in, and he answers, "Something that helps you sleep."

"I hear chamomile works—"

"Good, I'll take a pound."

And then he slaps a large bill onto the counter top's wood finish before she can even calculate the cost, hand pausing slightly as she punches the numbers into the register. Sliding the neatly packaged bag towards him, she eyes the strange customer with caution and interest. He's looking around the shop, eyebrows neither furrowed nor raised, and she finds that he almost looks quite bored.

"I'm sorry, just out of curiosity," Juvia brushes a strand of indigo hair behind her ear and takes her time returning his change. "What's your name?"

He blinks, slowly, and says, "Gray."

"Like the color, right?"

The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. "Not much of a color."

And so, Juvia stares at this man, who is all black and white, and thinks vaguely to herself, _what a fascinating person_.

Gray looks out the window and clicks his tongue, shoving a hand in the pocket of his black jeans. (It's funny that he decided to wear those with a blazer and a dress shirt.) He is sans a tie, so she notices the glint of a silver cross where his neck is exposed courtesy of an unbuttoned collar. Juvia has a hobby (not really); it involves her blatantly staring at random people, but that's just her _observing _them. She likes to pick out all the little details that make a person's back story.

(It's a pretty fun hobby when you don't have many friends.)

"Looks like the rain's lightened up." He comments, grabbing his bag. "See y'round, Juvia."

Juvia stops short and glances down at the front of her sweater. And then, her blood runs cold because she realizes she had forgotten her employee name tag today.

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Lucy sighs, dragging her feet on her way out of the classroom. Blowing stray strands of gold from her eyelashes, she digs her way into her bag for her bus pass. There's a hole in her new tights (where her thigh is), she completely failed her last astronomy midterm, there is what feels like a rock in her boot, and on top of all that it's drizzling (she is sans an umbrella, obviously).

Oh, great, now her bus pass has decided to disappear.

"Lovely," she mutters, shielding her head with the sleeve of her jacket. What could be worse than being stuck on campus at night in the rain with no way of getting home? (Actually, she could list many things...)

"'Scuse me."

Lucy looks up and blinks at the smooth voice. There is a young man with dusty pink hair, clad in a slim-fitted white suit (plus scarf), holding an umbrella upright.

_Pink_ hair.

_White_ suit.

These are the type of people she doesn't want to associate with. _Weird_ people who decide to bother irritated people (like herself) at the wrong time. He looks completely clueless, and she really doesn't want to have to be mean to him, but she isn't a charity either.

"Can you point me in the direction of Astronomy 001 with Professor Scorpio?" He asks. There is an easygoing smile planted on his lips, though most of his expression remains masked. But somewhere, peeking out from the falsely dulled façade, is something wicked, warm but dangerous (like fire).

Lucy raises an eyebrow slowly. Professor Scorpio's night class (which she just came from) is his last section of the day, so why...?

She could run. She really could.

But then, he cocks his head (as if reading her thoughts), and there is a threatening glint in his eyes that shine almost green for a second, as if to say _just try it_.

It takes her only a moment to realize that her voice has disappeared somewhere (along with her bus pass).

He smiles wider, crooked and amused, like he had just solved a difficult puzzle. "You're Lucy Heartfilia, aren't ya'?"

"No," she quickly denies, shaking her head.

"A lady shouldn't lie," he drawls, stepping closer. "You're gonna have to come with me, Miss Lucy."

She swallows, hard and thick, wishing she had pepper spray or a rape whistle, at least. She had read many articles on the trafficking of young woman (around her age, really) and none of them had a happily ever after at the end.

"And if I don't?" Lucy raises her head, pushing out her chin in a dignified manner. She may seem brave now, but putting up a shaky fight doesn't seem as good an idea as she had thought.

He even laughs, a hearty laugh, like she had just finished telling him a well-constructed joke. But he stops suddenly, and the fire in his eyes (along with the severity of his tone) is enough to sink her heart of all the hope she may or may not have been clinging on to in sad, sad desperation. "Then I'll shoot you in the legs and carry you, myself."

And it would only take a fool not to know he isn't joking.

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Her cellphone rings for the fifth time.

"Hello?" She answers, sleepy and not really bothering to check Caller ID.

_"Juvia."_

_Ah. _Rubbing her eyes, she lifts her head to check the time on her Hello Kitty wristwatch. 9:25PM.

"Oh, Gajeel, I'm still working—"

_"Juvia, shut up and listen."_

She wakes up a little more at the urgency in his voice that rumbles deeply on the other side of the line. It's very unlike him to sound so... nervous.

_"They know that I'm living with you."_

Juvia frowns hard, unconsciously pushing the phone closer to her ear. Over the course of the three months the two have been splitting the rent for a small apartment, she hadn't known (or even suspected) it was a secret. And one that wasn't supposed to be found out by certain people, apparently.

"Wait, what—Who?"

_"Doesn't matter. Just—Hold on, did a guy with spiky black hair come in today, real quiet?"_

Juvia scowls even further, thinking back to the strange customer earlier that day."Yes, but..."

_"Shit..."_

"Gajeel?"

_"You need to get out of there. Stay at a friend's place, find a hotel, whatever, just don't go home."_

At this point, she must have felt over fifty different emotions wash over her in a wave of a three seconds. Most of them, she couldn't exactly pinpoint, but she did recognize two very blaring ones: confusion and fear.

It takes her another moment to realize that Gajeel had already hung up, so she shoves the phone into her back pocket and scrambles to gather her belongings. Her cup of tea, already chilled, sits untouched on the counter.

"Sol, I'm leaving early today!" Juvia calls out to her manager. There is no reply, but she doesn't hesitate to give the door a firm push anyway. The bell jingles, and Juvia is greeted by a rush of cold air that pushes back the hair on her face. The lingering scent of asphalt after the rain teases her nose.

Gajeel's words echo and whisper, tickling her ears with uncertainty, and so she opts to sing a happy song in her mind and jog to the back parking lot. (A gray car, a gray car—look for a gray car.) It's hard to see anything at night in the city, even if artificial lights litter every corner. But there are two figures barely visible underneath the dim brightness of the street lamp in the lot, and immediately Juvia knows both of them.

One is her manager, Sol, and the other...

(Her veins freeze over, frostbitten.)

Gray inhales, deep and relaxed, and the orange glow of his cigarette pulses once before he tosses it to the concrete and stomps on it. His arm drags upward, lazily, and he aims something at the other male, nonchalant and bored as always, as if casually offering him a hit. It's moments like this when the world seems to stop spinning on its axis, and you don't really know what to do but watch. All Juvia sees in these next four seconds that feel like a lifetime include Sol's twisted face crying in anguish, the lights flickering above, and the shiny metal of the gun in Gray's hand.

And then, she only registers the soft curve of his lips before his finger slowly squeezes the trigger, smoke pouring out like hot lava. Her heart stops when there is a flash of blinding lights and colors, and a deafening shot rings out, echoing far into the distance. And for what feels like a century, the bells in her ears reverberate and block out all other sounds of the night. The shockwave ripples through her entire being, down to the very bone.

Oh, she is afraid.

Because Gray stands there in the smoke from his shot, like an artist who has just painted the streets with a masterpiece.

Sol slumps to the ground with a dull thud, and Juvia feels her knees crumple under the weight of her own body. There is a hole in his head, blown off face of the earth (_no_—it's all over the place, staining the walls and the streets and her car), and every where she looks is redred_red_. She sits, eyes wide in a flurry of emotions, but she does not scream. (For if she does, she might not be able to stop.)

Moments of earsplitting silence pass by, and then Gray's hollow footsteps stop before her. Juvia flinches and exhales, shaky breaths, not really knowing where to look. (But his serene expression almost calls to her.)

And she doesn't know what to think when those cold, icy orbs land on her cowering figure, and the barrel of the revolver, still hot from its last round, is aimed right between her watery, blue eyes.

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[_You have (7) missed call(s)._]

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	2. momento mori

**dedication:** still for Michelle and Les.  
**notes: **go read _a game of thrones _by we had one job (aka les and rhea). GO. like, right now. Also, yes, there is going to be a good amount of nalu, because hello it is me, okay. But yeah, the main focus will be on gruvia, so don't worry your pretty little titties off.

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**hollow point**

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**.2**

Juvia has always prided herself for being a girl of actions. Although her thoughts and words may tangle in the web of her imagination and die before even reaching her lips, her speedy reactions and instinctive nature to survive have, without fail, kept her going strong for years.

Until now, that is.

As she sits on the ashen concrete, some footsteps away from a dead man, with a fully-loaded firearm pointed at her skull, Juvia finds herself completely at a loss for words, as well as actions.

What could possibly be done in this situation?

A thought occurs: perhaps it's best if she just bites the bullet. (Quite literally.)

Gray watches her through smoky eyes and presses the revolver further against her forehead. Then, he smiles, a crooked grin, and Juvia somewhat regrets that her very last thoughts will be of how captivating and alluring her hunter is.

She waits and waits for the flash to come, but then...

"Bang," he whispers, and his slight chuckle, that reminds her of thunderstorms, sends a wave of shivers creeping up her spine, almost like his fingers are threading and tearing through the skin of her back.

He lets his lips fall back to their place in neither a frown nor a smirk and finally removes the gun from its target. Juvia inhales, a sharp and sudden breath that burns her lungs. And she panics and shakes because for once, even her body doesn't know what to do. Her glassy cerulean eyes shift back and forth from Gray to the _corpse_ and to the silver moon, shining high beyond the smog of the city.

There is a pause in the drumming of her heartbeat at the buzzing emitting from her back pocket, followed by soft strings of piano music that are anything but calming in the still and silent night.

She hesitates to even move, much less answer her own cellphone.

Gray shifts his weight to his other leg and blinks slowly before murmuring in a voice that seems to slice the air like a shard of glass, "_The Girl with Flaxen Hair_." He pauses and looks down at her. "Debussy."

"Yeah." Her whisper is barely audible, but she says it anyway because he looked like he might have been waiting for some form of confirmation.

The ringing does not stop.

He crouches in front of her, she who is painted with the splatters of red, while he is disturbingly spotless. He reaches out a hand, palm faced towards heaven, and Juvia isn't quite sure what he intends to do. Then, another jolt spurred by the continuous vibration in her pocket gives her somewhat of an idea, and she quickly disposes of the phone into his awaiting hand.

Gray shoots her a lazy grin and rests a hand on her head as he answers the call, putting it on speaker and dangling the device near his ear. She flinches but doesn't move away from the contact, cold to the touch.

_"Juvia, I've called eight times already. What the fuck are you doing?"_

Gajeel.

Involuntarily, her mouth opens to reply, but no word or sound is uttered. Gray quickly puts his index finger to his mouth, as if to say _don't speak_.

Juvia lips are sealed of her own accord, and she blinks at him, solemnly, in understanding.

_"Hello. Are you there?" _

Strings of curses are heard whispered in the background, and she doesn't know what to feel because it's so nice to hear a familiar voice, but still, she is so fucking scared.

"I'm here."

Gray's smooth voice once again breaks the silence, and although it was barely louder than a murmur, it feels like a explosion in Juvia's ears.

She cringes.

Nothing is heard from the opposite line for what feels like forever. She holds her breath and counts to ten, over and over again.

_"Gray._"

At this, his lips curve into a slanted smirk, eyes gleaming dangerously in the moonlight, almost feral. Juvia shudders, feeling like a prey caught in the jaws of a predator. And the only reason she is still breathing and not a pile of shattered limbs drenched in a pool of red is simply... on a whim.

"How've you been, Gajeel?"

_"Where is Juvia."_

"I've been good, too, thanks for asking."

_"Where the FUCK is my FRIEND, GRAY."_

"She's fine." And the light, joking tone in his voice is gone, up in smoke. His eyes flicker to her for a second before he shoves the phone before her lips. "Here."

What a time for her vocal chords to give out on her. She clears her throat and strains, but nothing is spoken.

Gray laughs, exhaling through his nose, and retracts his arm.

"Looks like she doesn't want to talk to you."

_"You fucking liar. If she's dead right now_—_"_

"Gajeel!" Juvia cries out, though it is more broken and feeble than she would have preferred. Gray looks at her, and there is something akin to amusement visible in his charcoal irises.

_"... Juvia!"_

She smiles at the relief in his voice, because it happens to be one of those rare occasions when her hotblooded roommate didn't sound like he was going to kill someone. Gray moves to pass her the phone but opts to hold it between the two of them when she fails to meet him halfway.

_"Are you hurt anywhere?"_

She shakes her head even though he can't see it and assures him, "I'm... okay." But her voice cracks part of the way through, and it makes her think: Is she really 'okay?'

Gajeel pauses before saying, in a low and threatening tone, "_What did he do to you?"_

"No, no, nothing. He didn't do anything..." Juvia's eyes trail back to Sol. Or rather, what used to be Sol. "... to me." His body has gone rigid and pale in the dim lighting of the lot, empty save for two.

_"What do mean by that...?"_

"Um. Well," She absently scratches her head, searching for an appropriate way to express her thoughts. Meanwhile, Gray examines his revolver, held loosely in the hand that isn't clutching her cellphone. The serial number is scratched off, and Juvia doesn't need to guess why. "Gray... kind of shot someone, and he's—I mean, _was_, my manager, and yeah, I don't think he's getting up anytime soon 'cause there's a—a hole... in his head..."

Don't cry, Juvia, don't cry._ Don't fucking cry,_ because it'll make everything so much worse than it already is.

She inhales, a shaky breath, and holds it, closing her eyes when they start to sting and burn. (There is no need for her eyes to resemble the sky and the clouds and the rain right now.)

_"Shit. You fucking offed someone, Gray!?"_

At this accusation, he merely cracks his neck, massaging his trapezius muscles, and comments, "Phantom."

The line falls silent, and Juvia's mind is a tornado of questions with no answers.

"Well, time's up," Gray stands from his crouch on the ground and lightly dusts of his jeans, that are perfectly clean save for some dirt and ash. "I'm keeping Juvia until you decide to stop your cowardice and make up your fucking mind."

She shudders at the way he speaks her name, so casual and possessive like she is nothing but an object, a toy, a bargaining chip.

_"Damn it, I already have!"_

Gray's eyes narrow and flash alarmingly white, and the drafty air around him seems to drop several degrees. "Try again," he demands in almost a harsh growl and abruptly ends the call.

He peers down at her, still perched on the ground in a storm of her own emotions, and pockets both his gun and her phone, flicking his head towards the deserted street. "You're free to stay, but I'm sure they'll be interested in what happened to your friend over there."

She isn't sure how much of that statement is true, but one thing was certain: she is anything but free. He spares her one lingering look before turning to exit the parking lot.

Juvia gasps, the color draining from her face, and quickly pulls herself up, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she scrambles to catch up to Gray, feeling much like helpless Bambi marching willingly into the jaws of a tiger. She makes sure not to look back, at the shop, at what life she had, and at her former manager who lies face down, hole in his cranium, like he's drowning in a pool of red.

Gray gives her a sidelong glance and says, "Good. Thanks for savin' me the trouble." She isn't sure what he means, and then he offers her a crooked grin that would have made her heart flutter had this been any other situation.

The misty air kisses her cheeks as she closes her eyes and says _goodbye_.

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"Who are you?"

Lucy watches her captor anxiously from the passenger seat. His dark eyes flicker to her as he leans a cheek on a fist, steering nonchalantly with a single hand.

He ponders her inquiry for several moments before answering, "Not a friend. Probably. Or could be. We'll have to see."

She almost sighs at how vague he remains, but his previous threat still swirls around her mind, nipping at her courage.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Nothing is spoken for a while afterwards, and Lucy wonders how thin she can stretch his patience.

"What's your name?"

"Natsu."

She tries the name once and lets it roll on her tongue. It tastes like leaves dying, red and orange and wilted, when summer ends. Lucy studies Natsu's side profile; his jaw is sharp but with hints of lingering baby fat, nose straight and pointed at just the right angles, and eyebrows to match his hair usually scowling in concentration. And when he is particularly focused, his lips, set in a tight line, would sometimes push outwards in almost a pout of sorts.

"Is your hair natural?"

She nods towards his tousled, pink tresses.

"Mm, yeah, I don't usually style it much," he says absently, taking another turn on the dark road.

Lucy frowns, raising a delicate blond eyebrow.

"I meant your color," she quickly corrects. He glances at her, almost pointedly. "Okay, I guess that answers _that_ question," she mumbles in return, turning to stare out the window aimlessly at the unidentifiable shapes and forms that zoom by.

"So, why—"

"You ask too many questions."

Natsu's sudden stern interjection surprises her, to say in the least. She quickly closes her mouth, reminded of the current predicament she is in.

This guy _kidnapped_ her.

The car turns into a remote and secluded area, and immediately, alarms are blaring in her mind, and her thoughts are flooded with 'what if's.

And only then does Lucy truly realize that her fate lies in the hands of another person.

"Where..."

Her voice disappears into the back of her throat, arms tensing, when they pull in front of an abandoned warehouse, with only trees and clouds as company. There is an ominous feeling about this place that screams of death and ends.

Natsu kills the engine, gives her an apathetic look, despite her eyes that plead in desperation, and says, calm and smooth, "Home."

Then, with a heartbeat that feels like thunder, she grasps the hem of her shirt with shaking hands.

This is no home.

"Sorry, Miss Lucy," though there is no sign that he is, save for the arguably minuscule traces of what appears to be an apologetic expression on his otherwise uncaring face. "But my job is to deliver you."

Her eyes sting. They sting so much, and he's starting to blur, but god damn it, she will not allow herself to weep and bawl like a child or a damsel in distress. Her fists clench harder.

"Why...?" She grinds out, because that is one question that ceases to pick at her temples.

Natsu pauses. And then, in almost a whisper, he explains, "Your father."

Lucy flinches visibly.

"He sold you. To your new husband."

And just like that, her world finally crumbles.

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Juvia blows on the window of the passenger seat and draws abstract designs on the foggy glass, wishing she could have spoken with Gajeel more.

And then, she leans her head against the cold surface, wondering if anyone out there is going through the same thing she is.

Gray pays her no attention from the driver's seat, even when she openly stares at him through long, blue lashes, eyes tired but sleepless.

She feels numb.

Maybe it hasn't truly settled in yet, that Sol is dead, and Gray killed him, and she probably won't ever set foot in that tea shop after this. Maybe she'll never again see Gajeel or their abysmally small but cozy apartment. Or maybe she won't ever _feel_ anymore.

The window is cold, still dewy from the rain. (At least she can still feel _that_.)

Something lands on her lap. Juvia's eyes shifts downward.

A bag.

Chamomile tea.

"I hear it helps you sleep," he drawls, voice deep and clear and bored.

Juvia wants to laugh and cry at the irony of it all.

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[_You are now leaving Oak Town_]

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End file.
